Fatherly disapproval
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: He never had a dad, but he suspects that failing one must feel exactly this way. Warning: Spoilers for 2x17.


Thanks to becoolbec for beta reading.

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He's never been one to wait for things to happen. He's a man of action, through and through. It's always been like this: Mike's the brain, him, the muscles. Unfortunately, it seems Michael's brain's a little out of it right now and it worries him immensely. 

His eyes jump to the rear-view mirror and he shakes his head. He doesn't know what happened exactly when his brother went to join the Doc in the train's bathroom, they had little time to chat about their love lives, but something obviously did because ever since they came out, they've been giving each other doe eyes and timid smiles. A part of him is pleasantly surprised, he never thought his brother was the kinky type.

Michael had moved to the back seat and next to her when they last stopped. The two of them are sitting so close to each other that she might as well be sitting in his lap. Their vain attempt to look casual isn't fooling anyone. He wishes his little brother had picked another time to become infatuated. In their former lives, Michael wasn't the smitten kind.

He's both weary and relieved. You gotta hand it to the Doc, the girl thinks fast and has good reflexes. She hasn't stopped surprising him. He certainly didn't see her strangulation stunt coming. And now, thanks to her, Kellerman's out of the picture. Somehow, being ordered around by a man who had tried to off them all and had pointed a gun at his son's head brought a boiling sickness to his gut.

He taps his fingers nervously on the wheel and exhales loudly at regular intervals. He also cracks his neck every few miles, which never fails to irritate Sara. She doesn't say a word, of course, she's perceptive enough to understand the silent war that's currently taking place between the two siblings. But the annoyed sighs she lets out at each snap prove to be pretty satisfying.

They have the drive. A tiny digital key that might save them all. Well, save him, at least. He should be ecstatic but he's so pissed at Michael right now that he doesn't trust himself to even look him in the eye. He probably wouldn't be able to stop himself from kicking his stupid, self-sacrificing ass. They hadn't made it this far to let Mike's infuriating selflessness wreck their only chance of getting out alive.

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Being idle has never agreed with him. When he's got nothing to do, his mind races, fixating on the tiniest details and examining them until his brain goes into overdrive. He knows he should be using this time to think ahead, ponder each possible outcome and form a backup plan for every one of them. He has the drive safely tucked in his pocket. He's still a free man, for the time being. He needs to figure out how to use that little asset to their best advantage, because they won't get any more second chances.

But he can't. His brain is failing him for the first time because he's sitting next to Sara and their knees are touching. All he can think about is the heat of her skin warming his through two layers of denim, the pale skin underneath and how he wishes he'll live long enough to finally touch it. Her closeness is so distracting he's debating moving away from her.

They've been driving in complete silence for a while now. Lincoln hasn't said a word since they left Pope's and he knows his brother is completely outraged that he offered to turn himself in. Once again. Linc's jaw is set the way it always does when he's pondering beating the shit out of someone, and he's aware that this time, the someone's him. It's always been like that. He's the pragmatic planner, ready to give up what needs to be, while Lincoln just wants it all.

He has already given up his freedom once to save his brother's life and would do it again in a heart-beat. But this time, the price seems much higher.

He turns slightly to steal a glance at Sara's concerned face and holds back a sigh. She's looking so lost and broken that it makes him ache to kiss her and make it all better. He has noticed how shaken and withdrawn she has looked since they first arrived at Pope's and wondered what previous painful reunion it echoed, though he has a pretty good idea. He certainly wasn't indifferent to the extent of the older man's fatherly disapproval. He never had a dad, but he suspects that failing one must feel exactly this way. Another unexpected side effect he hadn't thought to include in his well-crafted plan

Sensing his discomfort, Sara puts a calming hand on his arm and squeezes gently. He tells himself that waiting idly has upsides.

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Sitting in the car next to Michael, she thinks she's never felt more confused in her life. She has gone through so many dramatic changes in a matter of weeks, she has to wonder if she's ever going to be able to process them all. But Michael's closeness proves to be more comforting than any morphine shot ever has.

She's still troubled by Pope's judgmental stare. The disdainful look he gave her when he took her in is going to haunt her, she knows it will. She's familiar with that look, she has received it often enough from her father. She's used to disappointing the men in her life, but it's still as painful as the very first time she'd been caught red-handed and high as a kite by Justice Frank. She knows it all too well, that vicious pang to the stomach. The embarrassment, the shame, the self-hatred.

She's sitting in this car because she needs to fight for her life and Michael's, to avenge his father and take down a corrupted government, but she's bemused by Michael's knee next to hers and only wishes she could jump in his lap and cling to him for dear life. The urge to let him take her over, to rely on him completely is so strong she wonders how she ever went without his quiet and solid presence. For all the strength she has demonstrated in the past few days, she now feels like a lost, frightened little girl.

Unable to resist any longer, she puts her hand on Michael's arm and he turns to her, a timid, troubled smile on his lips. It doesn't quite reaches his eyes, she notices. She stares back and tries to convey in one look the flood of intricate emotions that makes it so hard for her to breath. She tries to tell him with her eyes that she feels disoriented, distraught, regretful, terrified and so very much in love with him. He must understand, because he leans over to whisper in her ear that they're okay, and everything is going to be alright.

She appreciates the effort but has to bite the inside of her cheek so stop herself from chuckling bitterly. If the past two weeks have taught her anything, it's that nothing is ever going to be alright.


End file.
